her lips are sweet surprise
by notapepper
Summary: My entry for the Fitzsimmons Summer Smutathon and Fanwork Friday organized by thefitzsimmonsnetwork on tumblr. Based on the prompts: "I'm a goddess on my knees" and "Surprise" (Academy/Sci-Tech)


**I don't write smut for underage couples, so just assume that Fitz and Simmons are at least 18 here.**

 **Title comes from _Bette Davis Eyes_ by Kim Carnes**

* * *

Fitz let his mind wander, staring at Jemma while she finished up the last of the washing from the afternoon's lab. He watched the way her face flushed as she scrubbed out a volumetric flask, suds flying up around her like snowflakes. Exertion was a good look on her, he mused, with her hair slightly mussed, gripping the neck of the flask tight in her latexed hand, the repetitive movement making her body shake in interesting ways. Particularly under her shirt. Particularly, in the, ah, boobs area.

 _Oh, help._ Was this what he'd reduced himself to? Leopold "Perviest Partner" Fitz was staring at his best friend's boobs without her knowledge or invitation, and this was the thought that shocked him out of his daze. Because sure, he'd had the opportunity to find his classmates attractive before, and had generally done so guilt-free, but this was Jemma, and Jemma was special, and _we do not jeopardize our relationship with Jemma, clear?_

His dick, however, seemed determined to ignore its more intellectual master, and twitched defiantly in the face of such a scolding. He resolutely ignored the blood rushing to his face, among other areas, and surreptitiously scanned the lab to make sure no one was around to see his little probl— no, wait, not _little_. His average-sized-or-larger problem. Thankfully, outside of Jemma, and another student who was busy reshelving their supplies, everyone had left.

"Are you done with the write-up? Fitz?"

He snapped out of it long enough to look down at his lab notebook, thankful that the tall bench helped hide the, ahem, Bunsen-burning need in his pants. "Uh, yeah!" He held up a scribbled report, which, luckily, he'd managed to complete before getting distracted.

"Brilliant. So I'll head over to your place later, then?" She wiggled out of her lab coat, which did nothing to help his concentration.

"— oral? I need to practice."

"Practice… oral?" To say he was surprised would be an understatement. Surely, she couldn't mean what he, or rather, his _unsanctioned lab assistant_ thought she meant.

She crossed her arms — _oh, have pity_ — and pursed her lips — _mother of all things_. "You know we both need it."

"Uh… I mean, it's been a while, yeah…" If by _a while_ he meant his entire fucking life. Well, non-fucking life, as it were. "I just, I'm not sure…" His throat closed up, too dry to elaborate further.

Her eyes narrowed. "Don't tell me you're backing out? If I'm going down, Fitz, you're coming with me."

 _Oral… going down… coming…_ Fitz had no idea what dimension he'd stepped into, but signs pointed to it being a porn version of some sort. But what if it was a horror movie version? In that case, he should attempt to stay as far away from a sexual liaison as he could. "I, ah, I only think that doing this, erm, _together_ …" He gestured between them, tellingly. "It might, y'know, change things."

She threw her hands up. "Hang on. Just one second."

Her mouth had fallen open in astonishment, lips rounded and inviting and _barbecue-porking-Christ_ , would his fucking libido fucking _quit_ already?

Jemma's brow furrowed, hurt warring with anger. "You don't want to be my partner? The presentation's tomorrow, Fitz!"

Realization crashed into him like a goddamn iceberg. (Not that he was calling himself titanic, or anything.) " _Oh!_ The presentation!"

"Yes, Fitz," she snapped. "Our project? Hall's class? For which we are woefully unprepared to present the oral component, given that we haven't practiced yet!"

"Yeah, of course! Of course, the project, uh, for Hall." He could still save this, assuming his stiffy went down, and in all fairness, picturing Dr. Hall's disappointed face was helping loads in that regard. "Yeah, we should rehearse our speeches, definitely. Yep."

"I know that! What do you think I've been saying for the past five minutes?" She stopped on her way to the door before whirling on him suspiciously. "Wait, what _did_ you think I was saying?"

"Hah!" he squeaked. "Nothing! Just distracted!"

"But earlier, you said that doing something together would change things," she pressed.

"Ah, you know me," he hedged. "Sometimes I spout nonsense when I'm tired. Don't we all?" He hastily gathered his books and stuffed them into his messenger bag. "Now, I say we pick up snacks and then we attack this presentation until it's perfect."

"Just a tick." She stood in front of the door and peered at him consideringly. "It's only, you don't really spout nonsense when you're tired. Occasionally, if you've been drinking—"

"Yes! I'm drunk! You got me."

As soon as he said it, Fitz knew he'd fucked up.

"You were _drinking_ before lab?" she hissed, a hand darting out to grab his jumper collar. "Fitz, you'll get us both disqualified from the course! How could you!"

"Er… sorry?" _Time to double down?_

"Sorry? _Sorry?_ Sorry won't be enough when everything I've worked for _in my life_ gets thrown away and SHIELD finds out my lab partner has been conducting experiments while intoxicated!" She gestured to the glass cabinet beside their bench. "These are dangerous reagents, Fitz! I can't believe you!"

She waited, face red, while his brain worked furiously to find him an out. Unfortunately, he wasn't near quick enough, and Jemma let out a harsh sigh before she lit back into him, letting go of his collar with a huff. "At least tell me if this is the first time!"

"Uh, yes!" He nodded vehemently. "Yes, definitely not a habit."

She groaned. "Oh, god. We need to find you some help! Bloody hell, I can't believe I didn't notice that my best friend—"

A loud bang tore their attention over to the supply closet, where Cadet Dimaandal had just slammed the door after packing her things away. She had her hands on her hips, shaking her head for a long moment before opening her mouth.

"Okay, you two are seriously the loudest, dumbest geniuses ever." Dimaandal pointed at Fitz. "You. Worst excuse of all time. We've all seen you at the Boiler Room; trust me, you would _not_ be a high-functioning alcoholic." She turned towards Jemma. "And you! Dude." Dimaandal briefly squeezed her eyes shut. "He obviously thought you were offering to blow him, because you asked if you could _go to his place and practice oral_ , which, FYI, I'm amazed you're English right now because no one talks like that. Unless they're flirting, like, really badly."

Jemma's back straightened and she began a rebuke, only to be cut off once again by Dimaandal. "Simmons, the poor guy is so into you, it's painful. So like, please, just get it on already, so you guys can get distracted by each other's butts and the rest of us'll have a _chance_ at impressing the faculty." With one last judgmental shake of her head, Dimaandal stalked out of the room, leaving Fitz and Jemma to stare at each other in shock.

The adrenaline from the confrontation rapidly gave way to a creeping, overwhelming embarrassment. "Ahh," Fitz chuckled, scratching at the back of his head. "Can we just… ignore that? Go work on our presentation?"

Jemma nodded quickly, hand coming up to play at her necklace. The skin under it, he noticed, had turned a rosy pink along with her ears. "Yes! Of course. I don't know where she got such ideas, anyway."

"Right," he croaked. He wondered if her neck was as soft as it looked. "Well, you know how people talk."

"Exactly. They just don't…" she trailed off, swallowing. "As if we would engage in such shenanigans the day before a major assignment, anyway."

"Right." _Wait, what?_ "Uh, Simmons?"

She pressed her lips together, biting down a smile, and brushed her hands unnecessarily through her hair. "We should go. Practice."

He assented quickly, his voice gone. "Practice."

-o-

Was the cafeteria always this hot, or was it the soup? And what kind of bloody twat chef served anything but gazpacho in the summer months, anyway? Fitz tugged at the neck of his button-up and tried not to focus on the frankly pornographic way Jemma's spoon pushed down her bottom lip before disappearing into her mouth. He reached for his ice water and took a large gulp, his elbow brushing hers, which brought to mind how closely she'd sat next to him in their booth.

It was strange, after that awkward encounter at the lab, that she'd sit next to him at all, much less close enough that he could breathe in the faint, bakery-sweet smell of her body wash wafting off her skin. Her light blush from before hadn't quite disappeared, sprinkling pink across her cheeks and her forehead, but if she was overheated in her jumper, she was hiding it well. For his part, though, he couldn't stop his brain from putting two and two together, wondering if the way she smelled matched the way she'd taste, wondering if her rosy warmth could be put down to their meal or if her thoughts were running along similar lines as his. Fitz was assaulted on all fronts, feeling as if he'd probably died, but unable to decide whether he was floating in Heaven or burning up in Hell.

He cleared his throat, desperate for a distraction. "So, uh, you'll go back to your dorm for the notes, and we'll meet back up in an hour to, ah, rehearse our presentation, yeah?" _Please say yes._

She shifted, bringing her hip flush against him as she faced him in the booth. "Didn't you want to get started?" she blinked. "I doubt it'll take that long just to grab our things."

But Fitz desperately needed to grab _his_ thing, and felt certain he'd require at least that much time to grapple down the tent in his pants.

"Oh, sorry." He waved vaguely. "Uh, I have some things I need to, uh, yeah. If that's okay." He sent a quick prayer upwards, apologizing for his lazy Catholicism and pleading that Jemma wouldn't ask him to elaborate.

"Are you feeling alright? You look a bit sick." Here was God's revenge, as Jemma brushed aside his curls to lay her palm along his hairline. "Hmm. You're hot."

 _Having your blood replaced by boiling lava will do that._ "It's, uh, it's a bit warm in here, yeah?" he managed.

"That's true," she acknowledged, looking around at the busy rush of students, all lending their body heat to the dining hall. "Still, you might take off your jacket."

"My jacket?" Was she trying to _undress_ him?

"Your tie, too. In case you're having a reaction to something."

 _Oh, it's a reaction, all right._ He felt a tug around his neck and jumped, before realizing she was starting to loosen his tie for herself. "Simmons!"

"Sorry! You just," she paused. "Didn't seem responsive?"

He didn't dare educate her on exactly _how_ responsive he was at the moment. "Well, I'm, uh," he floundered, tugging her hands away as he willed himself to stop picturing those hands elsewhere. "Perfectly capable," he grumbled.

"Of taking off your clothes?" Her lips curled into something cheeky.

" _Yes_ ," he fired back automatically, then paused. "No, erm…"

"Yes?"

He peered at her, scrutinizing the way laughter seemed to dance across her face as she met his stare with her own unapologetic one. There was no chance she was flirting, certainly, and yet… earlier, she'd said something like, she'd never consider fooling around the day before their presentation. So did that mean she would consider it afterwards?

His gaze fell to her mouth without him realizing, jolted into awareness when she licked her lips and spoke. "Fitz?"

The lip-licking was cosmically unfair, but lip-licking followed by his _name_? His poor untested dick did _not_ sign up for this, and as much as he wanted to stay and watch what else Jemma's mouth might do, Fitz was in very real danger of absolutely bollocksing his first real friendship, tanking Hall's presentation, and if he was being honest? He might die.

Concern flitting across her brow, Jemma laid a dainty hand on his leg, and that was _it_. Fitz needed a _refund_. He stood up as fast as he could and backed out of the booth, thanking his stars he'd kept his jacket closed, and somehow, miraculously, not tripping over his own laces.

"An hour!" He scrubbed a hand over his face, being intentionally rough if only to make sure that no, this was not a dream. "An hour, Simmons!"

-o-

"Ugh, why can't we _get_ this?" Jemma groaned, rolling her shoulders and stretching one arm up to grab the opposite elbow over her head. "Fitz, my neck hurts. Would you mind?" Reaching behind her to where Fitz was sitting on his mattress, she grabbed his hand and put it on her freckled shoulder.

He took a breath. _This is normal. This is what friends do. Friends have study dates in their pajamas, right? So just rub this beautiful girl's shoulders and don't make it weird, you absolute fucking tit._

Speaking of, that shirt was _thin_. "Erm, you do realize we can use notecards, yeah?" Fitz blurted, desperate for a topic that would help him ignore the incredibly smooth skin under his palms. "We don't have to memorize our entire presentation. In fact, it'll sound more natural if we don't."

He hit a particularly tough knot of muscle, and with a hiss, Jemma craned her neck just enough to shoot him a withering look. "Only babies use notecards. Are you implying we're babies?"

 _Wow_. Gone-midnight Jemma was mean. "Uh, no?" He raised his hands in a show of blamelessness, only to have her yank them back.

"Keep going."

She probably meant the massage, but gone-midnight Jemma was also a bit hard to gauge. "Babies can't… read? And they don't have the dexterity to even…"

"Oh, Fitz!" He could practically hear her nose wrinkle. "It's just an expression."

"An expression that no one says, you dafty." This was good. This was friendly banter, well within their realm of normality. Nevermind that she was letting him _touch her_ , sang his dick in reminder. Shifting a pillow into his lap, Fitz pressed his thumb into the meatiest part of her shoulder and drew out a pleased hum. "Look, I just think we need to take a break, right? We can't memorize anything if our brains are fried."

"We need to make sure we have this." She crunched her printout between her fists and dropped her head back, tickling the backs of his hands with her hair. "Even if it takes all night."

 _This_ Jemma was familiar, and he knew she'd make good on that threat if he couldn't convince her otherwise. "You heard Dimaandal," he soothed, rubbing rhythmic paths across the top of her shoulders. "We're the best, we know the material, everyone's jealous of us and we're gonna smash that presentation."

"What _I_ heard Dimaandal say is that I should sleep with you."

He froze, fingers tightening around her as his bleary mind came to a complete stop. "Uh." He somehow willed his hands back to life and resumed the backrub. "Sleep… sounds good."

"Mmm," she hummed appraisingly, letting her head fall to the side so that her cheek brushed against his hand.

"See, you're tired too," he teased, grateful for anything to break up his distinctly un-best-friendly thoughts. "So, erm, if we're both tired, can we set an alarm? Take a nap or something?" Jemma seemed to be feeling tactile, after all. _Might even get a cuddle, if I play my cards right._

She sighed in apology. "We just need to focus, Fitz. We've been too distracted tonight."

 _Hah. Can't imagine the fuck why._ He pushed that thought away and put all his attention into turning her to putty. He might not know as much anatomy as she did, but he wasn't totally useless.

After another minute, Jemma sank back into his hold and murmured, "Maybe you're right. We have been at this for a few hours, after all."

"Yeah? Good," he breathed. "My eyes barely even work anymore."

"You don't need to see to practice your lines." She scooted away from him and turned so they were face to face.

He groaned. "C'mon, Jemma…" He reached over and snagged her bare foot, digging his thumb into her arch and prompting a pleased exhale. "Let us use notecards, and I'll rub your feet until you fall asleep."

"Not a chance on the cards. But I think…" Her finger tapped her lips, dragging them open, and there was no way his eyes were too tired to follow _that_. "Perhaps we just need the right motivation."

-o-

For the record, Fitz had not anticipated that Jemma would suggest this particular method for rehearsing their presentation. But once again, he found himself surprised beyond belief, and he was _not_ complaining.

Well. He did feel a little bad, appreciating how difficult it must be for Jemma to say her lines around a mouthful of his cock. But only a little bad. She was, after all, the queen of multi-tasking. And her presentation, if he was in any _position_ to judge, was going to _blow_ them all away.

"As you can see," Jemma slurped, sliding off him with a wet pop, "the barium hydroxide chamber…" She started kissing down the side of his shaft, and he thanked every planet in his space poster that he'd taken care of himself earlier. "Provides the ideal environment…" She drew one ball carefully into her mouth, her cool hands continuing to pump him even as she detoured. "For a controlled reaction." Giving the other ball the same treatment — _never let it be said that Jemma Simmons doesn't value fair play_ — she circled her thumb around the head of his cock, smearing the wetness there. "But the crystalline nucleation process…" She replaced her thumb with her tongue, licking his tip and grinning at, he could only assume, how _wrecked_ he must look. "Simply wouldn't be possible without a suitable delivery mechanism."

Lips wrapped fully around him, she lowered her head as far as she could, ignoring the garbled gibberish that fell out of Fitz's mouth. She bobbed once, twice, and came back up for air. In that moment, Fitz thought, she might have been a sea nymph, rising majestically from the deep, sweeping her hair back with a flourish. As her eyes fell on him, her expression turned distinctly smug, chin lifting in pride. She crossed her arms over his thighs, leaned forward, and declared, "My partner will now elaborate on the construction of the chamber. Fitz?"

Fitz, it had to be said, was very much _not_ the queen of multi-tasking. In fact, his earlier prediction had come true, and he was on a bloody _brilliant_ collision course with his own death. (Granted, it was the "little death" French people were always on about, but even so.)

"Fitz?"

 _Oh. Right. Talking._ He let out a giddy sigh. "I would, Simmons, but I'm having a _hard_ time," he snorted, "remembering my part. And I _hardly_ ," he giggled, "think these conditions mimic our classroom setting."

"Well, if you can't manage, we could always stop what we're doing." Her tongue swirled around him, cheeks hollowing as her hand gripped him tightly at the base.

He choked out the fastest denial of his life. "Nnn-nnh! I remember it." He reached out a floppy hand to tangle in her hair, making sure not to give the impression he was directing her anywhere. "Just, let me have a minute."

She pulled off and regarded him skeptically. "You'll have two minutes, which isn't long to explain your design, so you'd better talk fast."

He whined softly, and she decided to take pity. "Tell you what," she started, dropping small kisses onto his thighs and reaching a hand down between her own legs. "If you can remember your lines, and hold off until you finish your speech…" Jemma blew a warm stream of air across his spit-wet cock, because she was clearly the smartest person in the world. "I'll let you come in my mouth."

"Guh." His hips bucked at the mere thought, making her chuckle. "Yes. Let's do that."

"Unless, of course," she smirked, "you'd rather help me find the condom I hid under my clothes."

-o-

From the day he'd started Sci-Tech, Fitz had always known he and Jemma would get on.

He just couldn't have imagined he'd actually get off with her as well.

 _-fin-_

* * *

 **Thanks as always to my betas, who help me avoid stressing myself out, even when *Leslie Knope voice* I am _super chill all the time_!**

 **That said, I get antsy about writing smut, and the attention-seeking child in me would really like to hear what you thought.**

 **:D Thanks!**


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